Staring Contest
by GIRL IN STORY
Summary: The Ponds encounter the Weeping Angels before they go to New York. One shot. No pairings. Standard disclaimers apply.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Set during the Pond years. One shot. No non-canon pairings. Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

"I have identification somewhere... Here! Oh, no. Not that. Not unless you need an egg boiled. No? Ah, here it is."

"Thank you for coming, Detective Inspector Smith. I'm Father Walters. I've been with Saint Michael's for over thirty years, and I've never seen a blessed thing like this before."

"You may have never seen anything like it, but that doesn't mean it hasn't happened before. Just not in your lifetime."

"What?"

"Tell me everything you know, Father."

"It was right in the middle of Sunday Mass. We'd just taken Communion, and we had knelt to pray. I bowed my head, and when I looked up, Mrs. Petinski had vanished."

"You must not have been praying hard enough."

"Or else someone prayed a little too hard."

"Hush, Rory."

"Her son was still there, with his wife and their little ones, but Mrs. Petinski was gone. Those doors are solid oak and a century old. We would have heard them if they'd been opened. You'll see what I mean when we go inside. The church was searched thoroughly, of course, down to the last confessional. There wasn't a single sign of Mrs. Petinski."

"What do we think it is?"

"Haven't the faintest. Shall we?"

"Must we?"

"Oh, hush, Rory."

"I see what you mean about the doors. You might want to sand down the sides. I'd help out, of course, but it doesn't do wood."

"Oh, er, thanks, Detective Inspector. This is where Mrs. Petinski was sitting. Same pew every Sunday."

"Hmm, how very interesting."

"Residual time energy?"

"No, Ponds, it's even more interesting than that. There's no time energy whatsoever. Not even the normal amount you'd expect to find in a place with so much history. It's as though it's all been… eaten."

"Doctor?"

"Detective Inspector?"

"Don't blink."

"What?

"Oh my god."

"It's alright, Amy. Everything's going to be alright. Just don't blink."

"I blinked. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."

"Well then, Rory, at least let everyone else know when you're going to blink so that we don't all do it at once."

"What's going on?"

"Keep your eyes on that angel, Father."

"What? You mean the statue? Why on earth…. would…."

"Father? What is it?"

"Nothing. I... I'm sure it's nothing. I just… I've been preaching here for almost thirty years. I've looked at that statue God knows how many times. It's always crying, with its face in its hands. You see, it was designed to represent the angels grieving over Christ's martyrdom."

"It wasn't designed at all. Well, not unless you believe in God, which I suppose you do, but I'm not sure how you feel about a god who designed that."

"What do you mean, Detective Inspector?"

"It's not a statue. It's a being."

"You mean- You can't mean a real angel?"

"That's not what I mean at all."

"Blinking now, Rory."

"But you think it's alive?"

"Yes."

"You must be joking.

"I never joke about- Okay, I joke about everything, frequently, and often inappropriately."

"He does."

"Um, I've got to blink now."

"Rory, you would absolutely lose in a staring contest. Which I insist we have as soon as we get back to the TARDIS. The stakes are Amy's hand in marriage."

"Doctor! I mean Detective Inspector!"

"I'm only joking. See what I mean? Often inappropriate. We'll play for Jammy Dodgers, naturally. I'm not joking about this though, Father."

"Then you're cracked!"

"Quite probably, yes. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. And I swear to you on everything that matters, on fish fingers and custard, that I am not wrong about this."

"Fish fingers and custard?"

"On second thought, that probably didn't do much to assure you of my sanity."

"I'm going to blink now. Doctor, what's it doing here?"

"Feeding off the congregation. Churchgoers tend to have a lot of potential time energy, good long sober lives. It's taking them in the middle of Mass, when they close their eyes to pray. It only gets someone, oh, say once or twice a century, maybe so that no one will notice, maybe because some cheeky little bugger usually peeks between his fingers when he's s'posed to be praying. But that's enough for it; that's just enough, so it's set up shop. It's roosting."

"You don't need to sound so excited."

"Well, it's an interesting phenomenon."

"I'm a lot more interested in how we kill it. Blinking now."

"Er, Detective Inspector? What happens if we all blink at once?"

"It moves. It's Heisenberg's uncertainty principal, you see? You don't see. What do you they teach you in priest school? It's quantum locked."

"Quantum?

"Quantum, Plural: quanta, which sounds rather like a piece of music, now that I think about it."

"Stop dancing, Doctor."

"Look, just- What happens if it moves?"

"Well, Father, let's just say Mrs. Petinski isn't going to be coming to church next Sunday."

"Blinking now. So how do we kill it, Doctor? That last time was a bit of a miracle."

"Maybe we should pray."

"Hush, Rory."

"Hush Rory."

"Jinx! You owe me a Jammy Dodger. Father, what's that?"

"It's just a religious relic. It's an eyeball from a priest who was martyred in the 17th century. They found the eye floating in the pot of water they used to boil him and preserved it in a reliquary. It's a gift from the Lancashire school."

"That's… quite a gift."

"It's very rare."

"I would hope so. I'm going to blink."

"I wonder if that wouldn't work..."

"What, Doctor?"

"The Weeping Angels cover their eyes to keep from seeing each other, to keep from turning each other to stone. I once turned four to stone by making them face each other. But here's the really beautiful part: They were trapped, even though they were only being watched by stone. Spend enough time as an object and your definition of what it means to be watched changes. An eye is an eye, even when it's stopped seeing, especially if it's imbued with potential time, and oh, nothing has potential like a religious relic, all that hope, all those prayers."

"You really think it will work?"

"Only one way to find out. Father, if you could move the eye so it's facing the angel, please. Now, Amy, catch!"

"The TARDIS key? Doctor?"

"I almost lost you to the Angels once, Amelia. I'm not going to risk it again. You and Rory, get Father Walters out of here. You remember where we parked, don't you? Actually, I'm not sure I do. I ought to get one of those nifty little beepy things for the TARDIS. Anyway, come back and get me in ten minutes. It should be safe then. Either the Angel will be trapped, or it will have left."

"Why would it leave?"

"Because it wouldn't need to eat again for a very, very long time."

"Doctor!"

"Just go. I've got my eye on it. And Amy, do you remember what I said?"

"I don't know. You talk a lot."

"Everything's going to be alright. I swear on fish fingers and custard. Now go!"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, one shot-ish.

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"Well, that's a load off, eh? No need to worry about Weeping Angels ever again!"

"S'long as we're stocked up on eyeballs, you mean?"

"Good point. We should pay a visit to Madame Vastra. She always has eyeballs on hand, doing experiments on them, putting them in her tea, what have you."

"In her tea?"

"And you thought fish fingers and custard was weird, eh, Rory?"

"Yeah, still do."

"Come on, Raggedy Man. Take your key back, and let's go. I remember where we parked."

"What would I do without you?"

"I wonder the same thing about you sometimes."


End file.
